


Drive

by beanarie



Series: It Starts With an Earthquake [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Arthur were to leave, Eames would be left with a child who has his own eyes and her mother's goodness and it isn't fair. Arthur would disappear entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a gift left in [gollumgollum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gollumgollum)'s stocking because she has aided and abetted my kid-ficcy ways.

Eames is not a good man. He will cheerfully fuck over anyone, at any time, because it amuses him, because the money is right, because they would have done the same to him. There are two things in the world that he cares about, and he likes to believe that his family only gets a spot because they love him as much as he loves himself.

Of course he doesn't pray. Even as a boy, he thought the practice fucking absurd (This attitude earned him a couple of slaps upside the head before he started pretending.). But if he could pray, if he thought there were even the smallest chance that he could get something from it, he would do it now.

Arthur's breath is coming in choked gasps. It began shortly before they got into the car, and Eames has never heard anything so terrifying in his life.

"Arthur," he says, taking one hand off the wheel to stroke the soaking wet hair on the back of his neck. "Arthur, you're not dying. I won't allow it, do you hear me?"

If Arthur were to leave, Eames would be left with a child who has his own eyes and her mother's goodness and it isn't fair. Arthur would disappear entirely.

His head is lodged in the space between the window and the headrest of the passenger seat. He isn't completely out--why would his Arthur ever want to make things easier on himself?--Eames knows that because the glazed eyes slide open every so often. And they should look confused; the man should be delirious. But once again, trust Arthur to defy convention, maintaining his wits even though his fever has to be around 106 degrees Fahrenheit by now.

"Not much longer now," Eames says. It's brainless and inane and said only to keep Arthur tethered there. "Honestly. We'll be there soon, I promise." He can't be too hard on himself for the inanity when he's rewarded with another glint of brown irises. "Hi."

"Eyes on the road," Arthur slurs.

Eames laughs. "Bastard. I am capable of watching both, you know. You don't trust me to get us to hospital in one piece?"

Arthur doesn't respond, though he's still awake. Eames wants to tell him to rest, to take a break, but he can't give him permission to let go, even a little.

A loud yawn from behind causes him to glance in the rearview mirror and mutter, "For God's sake. Not now. Go back to sleep." But it's too late; she's gaining more awareness by the second, rubbing her eyes and blinking at them. "Hello, sweetheart," he says.

"Arthur's really sick," she says, continuing the refrain from before she passed out. Four year olds and their penchant for repeating themselves.

"Yes, he is. He's very sick." What he wants to say is, _Could you **please** not call him that?_ It never bothered him before. In fact, when she first started and didn't stop, he found it hilarious. He never thought of it the way he does now. Poppy and Arthur, my father and the man who's with my father, and it isn't like that. It hasn't been like that since those first few days. (Although, Arthur once said, "She likes the way you say my name; that's where it comes from. I can't say I blame her.") "Remember? We must try to be quiet. Read your book, all right?"

"You gave him medicine?" she asks, yawning again.

"No, I told you. We haven't got the medicine. That's why we're taking him to the doctor."

"The doctor's really really far away." Conversely, her voice is much closer than it should be.

He isn't surprised to see her standing right behind them; she's known how to let herself out of the carseat for at least a year. She doesn't do it often, though, usually just when she feels like reminding them that she can. "Baby-" he begins.

"No." She glares at him, looking so inexplicably familiar he has to catch his breath. "You don't say 'baby'. You say 'sweetheart'. I'm Arthur's baby."

"Yes, you are, sweetheart. Now go and strap yourself back in."

She climbs over the hump into the passenger seat, and Arthur lets out a groan.

"What did I just tell you?" Eames shouts. He reaches out, trying to grab her arm, but she ducks away. "What are you doing? Go back there and sit down now."

"Shhh," she says. "I'm not being bad. It's okay." While he's watching, she stands on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on Arthur's forehead. "Love you, Arthur." Then she silently makes her way back to her carseat.

When Eames looks over, Arthur's eyes are half-open and he's doing his best to smile.

"Well, there you are then," Eames says, his voice shaking. "You've no choice now. She made you better."


End file.
